Independent Thought
by DQ-Ghostwriter
Summary: Set during Man in the Moon.  A Myra fiction.  It looks at what might have happened if Myra hadn't forgiven Horace so readily.
1. Prologue

_**Disclaimer:**__ These characters, unfortunately, do not belong to me. If they did I'd be very rich and have no need to vent creative energy on fanfic. So the characters belong to their original creator. This story is not being written or posted for anything other than my own enjoyment…no profit._

_**Author's Notes:**__ This is NOT a Michaela & Sully story. It is a Myra-based fanfiction speculating on what would have happened if Myra had seen Horace for what he really was. I am taking some things verbatim from the episode Man in the Moon, others are brand new scenes and I will begin to diverge from the original storyline eventually. Please read and review…I hope you enjoy, even if it isn't M&S._

_Keep. No. No. _

The door flung open, and it took every effort not to gasp. Myra had hoped to get this all done before he got impatient. Luck was not on her side. Brave. She had to be brave. Act like she didn't care. She threw the next item in the 'no' pile.

"What do ya think you're doin'?"

"Packin'." Keep it simple, keep working. He knew her. He knew her well enough to know that this was what she was going to do. He couldn't try to stop her.

"And goin' where?"

"Anywhere but here, Hank." She sighed, keeping up with the motions of packing when he drew closer. Her nerves started to kick in. He'd not hurt her, but she'd hurt him. No one else would believe it, but she knew. Much as he hid it, she knew.

"Who said you could go?"

"I did. Remember?" Looking up at him, she held her ground. "I tore up my contract. You can arrest me, jail me, whatever…I'm leavin'."

"So." His hand hit the headboard, venting a smidge of the pain that started to creep into his voice. "Am I ever gonna see ya again?"

It was a silly question, something to drag the confrontation out. To prolong it until it could blow up. That would make it easier for him. At least, that's what it always seemed like. "I suspect from time to time, we do live in the same town."

She had to finish this up. Her packing became more haphazard. If she didn't get out soon, she wouldn't get to keep one thing that was hers.

"What're ya doin' with this stuff?" He tossed a few of the items she'd decided to leave behind toward the suitcase.

It was times like this she could almost see how the anger was easier. She shoved aside the pile again, "These I'm leavin'. And these, I'm takin'."

He grabbed the bottle of perfume, the one he'd given her the year before. "I gave you this."

It was easy to remember that. So much of what she had was given to her by him. Including the impossible saddle of property. But the perfume, it had meant something – it had been special. They both knew it. That was why she had to leave it behind, no matter the pain she saw in his eyes. In fact, that was the point. He had to see this was real.

"I don't want it." Hardly anyone saw him like this, it broke her heart. But not enough to make her stay. Nothing could make her stay.

"It came all the way from Paris, France. It cost me ten dollars. You keep it."

He wanted to make it about the money, about this? All that could do was make her angry. Like he wanted to keep buying pieces of her affection. He'd never learn that wasn't what she wanted. He couldn't give her what she wanted. "If I live to be ninety I will not put this on and you can't make me! You can't make me do nothin'! Not ever again."

"Tell you what." He grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the suitcase. "How 'bout you just leave it all. It all belongs to me anyhow. Everything under this roof does."

She yanked her arm free, storming to the door. She'd wanted just a few things to claim as her own. Instead she was leaving with the only thing that mattered. Turning back to him she lifted her chin. "Except me."


	2. Chapter 1

The saloon doors swung shut behind her and with one long exhale the pain of her departure drifted away. A hesitant smile tugged at her lips before she stepped off the porch.

Never had the sunshine seemed so bright, the air so fresh, the sounds of the town so comforting and warm. The town that had once been her imposing prison was now open in a new light.

Myra looked up toward the sign above the saloon. No longer would it hover over her home. She was free. For a brief moment the giddy release swept through her and she didn't even try to stop the smile.

"There she is." Dr. Mike's voice carried over toward her.

"Myra."

And there was Horace. His smile made the despair of what she'd left behind seem like it was even further away. Myra walked toward him with relief. She was free, free to be with the first man that had bothered to know her first.

Horace took her hands, his gleeful smile matching hers. "How'd it go?"

"Oh, it don't matter. It's over now." Thinking about what had happened once again made her smile more forced than genuine.

"He didn't hurt you did he?" Dr. Mike's concern was genuine enough, if unfounded. This wasn't about hurting her, no not this time.

"No." Myra forced out a laugh to prove how silly the notion was.

Horace squeezed her hand, "Where are your things?"

This was where things would get tricky. Especially knowing Dr. Mike. Through clenched teeth Myra managed to say, "He wouldn't let me take 'em."

"But they're yours. You have a right to them." Dr. Mike frowned.

Despite her newfound freedom, Myra felt compelled to pass this off. "Hank don't care about rights."

When Dr. Mike turned toward the saloon, Myra could see him inside. Once again the scab was getting ripped off the wound. She should stop Dr. Mike before she did something to make things worse.

Before she could think of a way to smooth things over, Dr. Mike was on the move. Myra could feel her throat close up when Hank stepped out of the saloon. She didn't know why no one else could see what she saw just then.

"Hank. Myra needs her things." Cool and collected. Michaela's demeanor wasn't going to get results. Not in any good way.

"She does, does she?" Hank took a moment to glance at Michaela, but his eyes returned to Myra.

"Yes." Michaela took a deep breath. "Keeping them is the same as stealing."

Myra clung to Horace's hand. To her hold on freedom. That was what she needed, not her things. Not like this.

"Arrest me." Hank turned to anger fast enough. The moment of pain was gone, unrecognized by most everyone. "Or maybe I should still wire a Marshal to arrest her for tearing up her contract."

Horace's arm went around Myra's shoulder, "I won't send it."

"Hank." Dr. Mike was trying to placate him, but it sounded like she was scolding a child. "I know you're upset about Myra leaving. But keeping her belongings is immature. Why don't you just be a man about it?"

For a moment Hank looked ready to spit nails. Myra held her breath, but then a smile almost formed on Hank's face. Could there be hope? She knew it was foolish to believe that maybe this once it wouldn't go bad.

"You're right Michaela." Hank was eerie calm, "I don't know how I could have been so…immature. I'll go get 'em."

Myra's lips thinned with tension, but when he disappeared inside she felt the giddy sense of freedom sweep over her again. Maybe for once the hope wasn't misplaced. Maybe this once…

The suitcase landed in the middle of the street, and Myra gasped. With every step Hank took toward them, her heart pounded louder. How could she have been so foolish to hope? There wasn't any way Hank would let go of his pain and anger so easy.

She struggled to hold her head up as one item of clothing after another was flung at her. Pieces of her, flung into the dirt. It was the only life she'd known for so many years. So few things she'd managed to get for herself.

Hank was doing it to be spiteful, to try to hurt her as she'd hurt him. Embarrass her the way she'd embarrassed him. No amount of embarrassment would take away her freedom. He was letting her go at last – for the world to see. That helped her keep her head up once the satchel had been thrown down.

Holding his hands out with a sneer, Hank glared at her. "All yours."

Myra wrestled herself out of the tight grasp of Horace. It didn't matter how they'd gotten there. They were her things. She had to gather them up.

"No. Don't." Horace grabbed her shoulders. "Leave it all."

Myra tried to break free. Didn't he see? These were her things. Her life. They weren't worth much, but they were hers.

"Leave it. Leave it all."

"But…I…" Myra looked down in desperation.

"Myra!" Horace started to pull her to her feet, a smile on his face. "I'm gonna give you all new things. I'm gonna give you a whole new life."

The new life was what she wanted. She didn't want to be bought. But as he kissed her forehead and drew her close, she didn't see how she could deny him. It was because of him that she was here. He was going to be her husband.

Did she have to give up everything to get a new life again?

She'd done it once before, she could do it again.

With every bit of strength she had, she threw down the clothes she'd gathered. She wrapped her arm around Horace's waist, walking away from the tattered remains of the life she was leaving behind.


	3. Chapter 2

A splash of red caught her eye. From that moment on, Myra couldn't keep her eyes off of the hat. A red ribbon, a spray of lively flowers. So much more inviting than the green and brown clothes piled before her.

"What about this one?" Michaela held up another dress, another boring brown dress. The smile on her face was bright, it was clear she was excited about this. "The trim on it is a nice burgundy. The lines are very stylish."

From somewhere deep within Myra pulled on an old practice. The smile that broke on her features was not heartfelt, but if experience had taught her anything it was how to make it believable. "It's really very nice. This is all too much, Horace."

"Naw. It ain't. Ya deserve a whole new life." Horace smiled and squeezed her shoulder, "And you're gonna get one. What else does she need, Dr. Mike?"

A faint pink hue breeched Michaela's cheeks, "Now we move into more personal items, Horace. If you don't mind."

"Oh! Oh, right. Sure. I'll be at the counter."

Myra squeezed his hand with a smile while Michaela circled the table to look at the petticoats. The plain, cotton, boring petticoats. Nothing in the small pile of clothes she was going to take had any life to it.

Why did her new life have to be so plain? Did it have to be the total opposite?

"You should have three petticoats. One for nice days only, they'll be your cleanest. Two for every day so you always have one while the other's being washed." Michaela's voice sounded distant. "Myra?"

"Hm?" She'd been staring at the hat again. Myra cleared her throat and turned to smile at Michaela, "Whatever you think, Dr. Mike."

"It is a beautiful hat." Michaela moved over and took it off the hook. Tilting it with a studious eye, she winked at Myra, "Maybe not for every day, but it could be nice for Sunday's at church."

"Oh, I don't know." While she may not like the thought, maybe Horace was right. Maybe she _did_ need to be the opposite for people to let go of her past. But then the hat was on her head. Michaela turned her toward the mirror, tying the ribbon over her shoulders. Myra couldn't help it, she grinned. The hat really was an exciting thought. Just one bit of color couldn't harm nothing, could it?

"It looks lovely on you."

"Myra? What are ya doin'?" Horace looked concerned as he walked up. Behind him Loren was chuckling, a wicked smirk on his features.

"Just seein' how it looked, Horace." Myra tugged on the ribbon, her smile trembling and threatening to falter. "I thought a little color might not hurt."

"That's a bit flashy. Ain't it Dr. Mike?" Horace frowned in her direction. "I mean, ya don't wear something like that without wantin' to catch people's eyes."

Before Michaela could respond, Myra took the reins on it herself. "We were just playin', Horace. Don't you worry. I wasn't gonna try to buy it." She set the hat back on its peg, letting her fingers trail along the silky ribbon. She'd wanted a new life. Letting go of the old one was proving harder than she thought.

"How about this one?" Horace sounded practically giddy as he set something on her head. "If ya really want a hat."

Stepping back, Myra looked in the mirror again. Brown. More brown. The felt, the ribbon, both were brown. Simple and, dare she say it? Boring. Yes. Boring. No amount of clothes could change who she was, or could it? Would living in this forever make her different?

It didn't matter. Horace, the man that she loved – that had loved her enough to see something other than a whore – that man was smiling at her. So happy that he was helping her, that he was getting them closer to marriage. He'd helped her get freedom, he was just trying to help her get respect.

Right?

She smiled and nodded, "It's real nice, Horace. Thank you."

He turned her toward him with a warm smile, "Ain't no need to thank me. I love ya Myra. We're gonna do this right."

"I know, Horace." Myra gave his hand a gentle squeeze. He was right. They would do this right. It would get easier with time, everything did. "It's just takin' me a little time to get used to it."

"You'll be fine. I'll make sure of it." His lips brushed her forehead again, a gesture that made her feel safe. "You're starting over. Ain't nothin' gonna mess it up for ya. For either of us. Soon we'll be married. Everything'll be all right."

That thought had been what had pushed her out the door of the saloon. It was what would continue to carry her through. Her arms went around Horace's waist and she hugged him tight, "You're right. Ain't nothin' gonna keep it from being all right."

When she opened her eyes again she could see Michaela watching them. Through the smile on her face, Myra thought she saw a bit of concern. Instead of acting on it, Michaela smiled brighter, "Well. I think we've got everything Myra needs. Why don't we get it back to the clinic?"

Myra was more than happy with the change of the subject and the thought of maybe being alone for a few minutes. After a quick nod, they made their way through the store. Horace refused her offer of the money she'd managed to save up over the past months, insisting that the clothes were his gift to her.

This time Myra didn't try to protest, her gut telling her to take this gift and protect what little funds she had. For a moment she wondered what had happened to the clothes thrown in the street, the soft silky petticoats marred by dirt. Wondered what it would be like to not feel those against her skin again.

Instead it would be cotton, muslin; now wrapped safely in paper to make the short journey across the street. Distracting herself from those thoughts she focused on the future.

No more servicing men.

No more relying on Hank's good graces.

A future of a life she chose. One that wasn't chosen for her.

The possibilities of hope and joy now seemed endless.

By the time they'd returned to the clinic her smile was more than genuine. Pushing aside the chaos that had been her departure from the saloon, she was starting to get hopeful again. This was her future.

It was going to be wonderful.

After thanking Matthew for helping them across the street, Myra moved to open up the first package. This was it, a gift from her future husband. The hope of her new life. "I can't believe Horace bought me all these things." When she really looked at it, he'd already given her so much, now all of these clothes.

"Well." Michaela's smile widened. "You've got a whole new life now."

"I really appreciate you lettin' me stay here Dr. Mike. Horace offered but I…" Myra looked down, pulling the string from the package as she thought about what she'd say. "Well I…I prefer not to until we're properly married." This time she was doing things right.

"I think that's wise." Michaela gathered up a dress, a warmth in her expression that boosted Myra's faith in her decision.

Taking a deep breath, she turned toward the armoire to pull it open. Once again she started to feel almost giddy with the thought of her own freedom. "I really wanna start over. Do it right this time. I just want people to see me different."

"I understand." Michaela's smile faltered and she looked down at the bed. The smile returned as she picked up the dress in front of her. "Well aren't you going to try one of these on?"

Myra couldn't help her hesitation as she looked at the bland blue and brown dress Michaela was holding up. She was right, though. No time like the present. She forced a smile she definitely didn't feel, "I suppose I should."

"I think it will be a good first step to starting over." Michaela's reassurance was kind, but didn't do much to help.

Trying not to look as unsure as she felt, Myra picked up the dress. The weight of it surprised her, but she returned Michaela's smile as bright as she could. She couldn't hold it when she turned away, though.

The last time she'd worn anything but her whoring clothes had been years ago. Even then, though, they'd had some life. This dress felt wrong, but that didn't mean it was. She was just scared of what it meant, or that it wouldn't change how they saw her. That had to be it.

After one more look at Michaela for reassurance she disappeared behind the screen. With shaking hands she peeled off one layer of clothes after another. The thin, false layers of her previous life coming off with them.

Then came the plain simple dress, slipping over her legs. The rough texture and weight of it settling on her shoulders. The buttons closing up her fate, fitting over her previously exposed body right up to her neck. She hadn't covered up so much skin in years. It didn't feel liberating, but she supposed it wasn't supposed to.

Proper ladies weren't unruly and disheveled. Dr. Mike wasn't – and she was strong and independent, while still managing to be proper.

Yes, the high neck wasn't liberating in that sense; and it wasn't choking either.

With a bit of trepidation she stepped out from behind the screen. What if it wasn't enough? Dr. Mike would tell her, wouldn't she?

Nervous anticipation caused her smile to jump before she moved closer to Michaela. She bit her lip in anxiousness, smiling when Michaela turned around. One last thing to do, she pulled the pins from her hair and let it down. The playful half bun tumbling down into smooth waves.

As Michaela stepped closer, Myra shifted in nervousness. Michaela hadn't said anything yet. What did she think?

"May I?" Michaela's eyes darted down to a handkerchief on the end of the bed.

Myra nodded, trying not to fidget away when the handkerchief was lifted to her lips. The gentle touch Michaela used to wipe away the last hint of her former self felt like sandpaper against her mouth. This was it, this was going to make her proper. Accepted. Put the nail in the coffin of 'Myra the whore'.

After one last gentle wipe, Michaela's lips turned up into a warm smile, filling Myra with hope. Myra took a deep breath, "Well, what do you think?"

"Come see for yourself," Michaela said quietly, turning Myra toward the mirror and propelling her forward.

The woman she saw was a stranger. Myra gasped, her hand going to the high collar that had felt so tight earlier. Now it seemed to choke off her air, as the unfamiliar woman matched her movements. This isn't the face she remembered, not the one that had been through an opposite change at the hands of Hank. "That ain't me."

"It is."

A sense of loss filled her, mixed with a joy. The oddest mix of emotions spilled over in a single tear as she turned to look at Michaela, "That girl, she's gone." The spirited young girl, the one with hope, daring, joy…despite her situation she'd clung to it. She saw no joy in this grown woman before her.

"No." Michaela seemed to understand. With an encouraging nod she met Myra's eyes in the mirror. "Look! She's here."

Myra touched her face, trying to find the young girl she'd been in the face before her how.

"She's right here." The confidence in Michaela's voice gave her hope.

Myra smiled in response to the confidence, but then looked back at herself again. With a deep breath, she nodded, "Thank you Dr. Mike. Would you mind? I…I think I need a few minutes to myself."

"Of course." Michaela squeezed her shoulder. "I'll be right downstairs if you need me."

Myra nodded, her eyes locked on the matching blue set in the mirror. The fear, disbelief, that part was familiar. She was still in there.

Once again in uncharted lands. Facing a future she wasn't sure she would like – but was positive it was a good sight better than the old life. Yes.

Being proper might be a bit restraining, but she could still breathe. She could still live. She would have a life she never could have had under Hank's roof.

There it was, a familiar smile. Not covered in color, but genuine.

Warmth started to fill her.

Clothes couldn't take away the girl she'd always known, not if she didn't let them. And she wouldn't let them.

After all they were just clothes.

She was still Myra. She always would be.


	4. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note:**__ Sorry for the long delay between chapters. I should know better than to start a story before the holidays. Anyway, point is the past few months are finally over and I'm back to this story. I had planned on waiting until I got a couple chapters ahead before posting, but I changed my mind. Hoping the pressure of posting makes me write more! _

_Anyway, notes on the chapter. I was blessed to get a copy of the script (well, all the scripts) from a friend. I found a couple great scenes that were left out of the aired show, that fit well with my view on the story. This chapter includes one such scene at the end. I hope you continue to enjoy my take on Myra's view of these events._

Myra could still feel the giddy joy bubbling through her. At first, she'd feared that she'd be turned away. The Reverend's hesitation couldn't have been more clear. His simple comment about keeping his house holy – followed by Dr. Mike's reminder to love your neighbor.

But once inside the church, the stares had threatened to drive her away faster than anything else could have.

Instead of shunning her, the Reverend's first words at the pulpit had surrounded her with warmth. Speaking of the adulteress that had been caught he'd reminded them of the Lord's words. "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone."

From then on, nothing could have stopped the flow of love and happiness that had filled her. She was in the church, surrounded by the townsfolk. The one building that had first caught her eye, that she'd been sure she'd never be truly welcome in.

"Let's have a toast!"

Jake's words brought Myra back to the group around her and Horace. She smiled as bright as she ever had at the toast, taking the smallest sip of her punch. Her stomach was too busy doing giddy flips to keep it down.

Horace finished his thanks with "We'd like to invite all of you to the weddin'."

Even Loren was grinning, "Have ya set the date yet?"

"We're waitin' for Horace's kin to answer." Myra chose to answer this one, keeping the flutter of her stomach to a minimum. "But if they can make it, we're hopin' for the last Sunday of the month."

"I'll be sure to put it on my calendar." Before Hank had spoken, folks had started to scatter out of his way. The biting sarcasm of his tone wasn't lost on anyone. "Assumin' I'm invited."

Myra couldn't stop her jaw from dropping. All the joy of the morning rushing out of her like she'd been hit by a train. She may have feared this would happen, but it was the last thing she'd wanted.

A gentle squeeze to her shoulder preceded Horace's declaration. "Matter of fact you ain't, Hank."

"What kind o' gratitude is that, Horace?" Hank didn't bother wasting energy to hide how drunk he was. Not that it would have mattered, drunk or sober he would have been there. The drunk wasn't meant to hide the anger. "It's the least you could do after stealin' what was mine."

Myra could only stare, gripping the back of the chair. Sickness welled up in her at the sight of him. Drunk, angry, all because it was easier for him. She wanted to speak up. She needed to. Why was it no one else could see what she was seeing?

"She was never yours Hank." Horace sounded as strong as he could.

"She was mine plenty of times," Hank smirked.

Myra wanted to close her eyes as the debate went on around her, to escape the marring of her perfect day. This wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be this hard. Hadn't it been hard enough just leaving?

It had been hard for her, but apparently Hank wasn't done yet. He wasn't used to being the one hurt or dismissed. He was going to make sure she knew it.

"Not 'til I give the bride her weddin' present." The first shot echoed through the café as Hank shot straight in the air.

Unlike everyone else in the café, Myra only gasped in shock. She didn't run, she couldn't. She wasn't afraid.

A violent surge rushed through her, pushing her forward. She wouldn't go back to him, but it killed her to see him like this. The pain echoing in his gaze, the faintest tremble of lip, it ripped through her resolve to move on.

It pulled her back into him; it pushed her away from him.

The tug of war within her soul, the one she wanted to leave behind more than she wanted to leave behind the man before her. Her attachment to him, he wouldn't let her sever it. Not like this.

The last shot rang through the air, silence lingering behind it. The rest of the world disappeared into the pregnant pause.

Myra fought back the sob that was building in her chest, the one meant for him. She gripped her skirts to keep her arms at her sides and not reaching out to comfort him. She kept her final few steps steady, to keep her feet from running toward him.

If he had to end it his way instead of hers, she had to let him. For her freedom, and for his.

She was just a few steps away. Certainly she'd been walking forever, but it had been just mere moments. Still feeling no fear, only sorrow bordering on pity, she didn't quite close the gap.

"Did you really think I'd let you go through with that?" Hank's tone was softer now, the pain seeping in, if only for a brief moment.

Myra took the chance to try to reason with him, knowing it was unlikely that she'd pierce the cloud of whiskey. A soft sigh preceded the sag of her shoulders, "Put the gun away, Hank."

"Get on your knees." A quiver in his voice was the only hint. For the moment he looked almost stoic, calm.

She knew it was the calm before the storm. He was too upset, and was building up the fire to keep it hidden. Still, she remained standing.

That was all it took. Hank's face twisted in a flash of anger that briefly masked the pain etched there. "_Now!_"

It wasn't fear that made her follow his direction, in fact she'd expected the barking command so much she hadn't even jumped. Her heart pounded with echoes of pain, waves of it coming off of him.

Vaguely she was aware of voices, but those people didn't exist in this moment. This was about him and her. He wasn't done with her yet. He wanted her to submit. No matter what it took. To be in control again.

She couldn't give him that. Almost breaking her own heart at the thought, she felt her lip tremble. Sure, she could try to stop it. Try to speak up and show strength. Truth was, it was taking all of her strength to do this the right way. The only way he'd respond.

"Somethin'…you need 'fore you get married, Myra."

She almost lost it at the tears in his eyes. The ones he was holding back so poorly he had needed to take a shaky breath in the middle of his statement.

"You need someone to give you away." He shook his head, "It ain't ever gonna happen."

For the briefest moment as the gun started to rise, Myra felt afraid. It coursed through her like a rushing wakeup call. Then the next moment it passed. Even as she had to look along the barrel to see his eyes, the fear passed.

"I'll kill ya first."

The pure ache on his face threatened to make her cave. As the slow click of the gun being cocked filled her ears, she closed her eyes. If she kept them open, she'd give in just to make it stop. He wasn't going to kill her. The thought barely crossed her mind.

In a moment everything went crazy around her. Hank's grunt caught her off-guard and her eyes flew open in time to see him stumble away and crash into the table.

She didn't remember getting to her feet, but within a moment she was leaning over the table. Fear filled her at the blood she saw, and she gripped the table until her knuckles were white.

Within minutes the men folk had rallied and helped take Hank to the clinic. In the aftermath she found herself wrapped too tight in Horace's panicked arms. Instead of feeling relieved and safe, she felt pinned down – like she was being kept from what she wanted to do.

Gently, she pushed down Horace's arms, extricating herself from his tight grip. "You can let go now Horace. I'm alright. Really."

Horace set his hands on her shoulders, still keeping her close. His eyes searched hers for something. What it was, she wasn't certain. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." Myra rubbed her arms, fighting the urge to look toward the clinic. Even if there was news, after what had just happened she supposed it wasn't proper to try to find out how Hank was. Proper. That was what she was supposed to be.

Clearing her throat and shaking her head, she wiped at a single tear. She touched Horace's arm, needing to take care of his feelings. At least until she could face her own, Horace would be the focus. "I'm worried about you, honey. You alright?"

Horace's face was twisted with guilt and anger. "No, I'm not alright."

"I'm sorry about the engagement party." Myra tried to soothe him, not sure what had him most upset.

"It's not about the party, Myra!" Horace leaned down, his grip remaining on her shoulders. Eyes wide, he stared hard at her, "I almost lost you!"

"Well I'm here. I'm right here." Myra smiled as strong as she could, but frowned when he sighed in exasperation and dropped his hands from her shoulders. Maybe she could make him see that it wasn't anything.

After all, Hank wasn't going to kill her. He never really almost lost her. She bolstered up her courage and touched his arm. "Hank was just bein' his usual self, causin' trouble…but Sully was here and everything's alright."

"Yeah…Sully was here." Horace kept his face turned away, his tone remorseful. "What if he hadn't been?"

Myra could see that he wouldn't listen if she tried to pass it off. Horace was stuck in wherever he went when he felt bad. All she could do now was soothe him, try to get him back to being happy. "Let's don't think about what if's."

For a few moments, Horace resisted her attempts to wrap him in a hug. Eventually he gave in with a sigh, "I can't help it."

"Shhhhh…" Myra gave him a gentle kiss, holding him close. Trying to end the chaos of the day. To get Horace back into a good place. Her feelings would wait. For now.


	5. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note:**__ As I mentioned before, the script of this episode has been a marvelous bit of aide in my story. But even that leaves out some scenes and has choppy cuts. _

_So comes this chapter. How does Myra process not only Horace's purchase of a gun…but his adamant wish that Hank was dead? In the show (and script) we cut in a messy flip from her horror at this statement – right to Hank passed out and her running out of the clinic behind Dr. Mike. What happened in between? How did Myra process/compartmentalize it? _

"Afternoon, Myra." Levi Tate tipped his hat as he walked past.

Myra nodded in return, a silly smile covering the girlish giggle she felt rising from her belly. Up until the past two days Levi hadn't ever bothered to look at her with anything but a slimy leer.

It was really happening. Acceptance.

She'd never expected it so fast.

After all, the only thing that had changed was how she looked. Wasn't it?

She adjusted the basket on her arm, excited to be meeting Horace for lunch. After the past few days the idea of a nice, quiet picnic sounded wonderful.

When she turned the corner, her cheerful thoughts were dashed. There, slung on Horace's hip was a gun. A gun? It couldn't be possible. Not Horace.

She stepped up onto the stoop, "Where'd you get that?"

"I bought it." Horace looked positively proud. Puffing out his chest like he was a big man now.

"You bought a gun? Why?"

With a nod toward the saloon, Horace's somber expression didn't change. His tone not as soft as maybe he intended. "Ya know why."

Myra shook her head, this was madness. This wasn't Horace. The Horace that was always so sweet. Words failed her, she could only spit out, "Horace Bing. I can't believe my eyes!"

"I mean to protect you." Unbending. Unhearing. He wasn't going to budge a bit on this, was he?

She had to try, "Not with that!"

"Then how?" Pride. Stubborn, determined pride. The need to protect her? Or something else? "Or would you rather I just stand there, like before? Is that the kind of man you want?"

He couldn't be serious. One thing she was sure of is that this wasn't about what she wanted. This wasn't anything more than pride. She had to stop it, to placate him. "You were the kind of man I wanted long before you strapped a pistol on your hip."

"It's still me, Myra." Now it sounded like he was the one placating her. Trying to settle down his irrational woman.

No.

She wasn't being irrational, he was. He had to listen to reason. Carrying a gun wouldn't do anything but get people killed.

"No, it ain't!" Myra was pleading now, but she couldn't keep a level of anger out of her tone. "The Horace I love is gentle and kind, and wouldn't hurt a flea." Just to drive the point home, she pushed a little further, "I love you because you're _different_ than Hank!"

For a moment he softened, looking down at her without the pride. Only concern warmed his voice, "But, what if it happens again?"

"It won't." There wasn't a bit of doubt in her mind. The worst had passed.

"We don't know that."

Myra took a moment, holding back every thought in her head. The certainty that Hank wouldn't shoot her, that he'd never actually hurt her. In her mind there wasn't a doubt that in his own way, Hank loved her. It might have been a messed up way to love, but it was love.

None of this would appease Horace. She knew that. But somehow she had to stop this. She had to make him as sure as he was. "He wasn't gonna shoot me. He was just…drunk."

"I can't believe you're talking up for him!"

After a small huff of annoyance, Myra gave up on decorum. He was going to be stubborn, she had to be more so. She went for straight out honesty, "I'm just tryin' to talk some sense into you!"

"Myra that man tried to kill you right in front of my eyes." He'd not even waited for her to finish. Anger lifted his voice louder, "If you think I'm gonna let him touch you again. If he does, I swear I'll kill him."

Gasping out loud, Myra stood frozen. How could he say that?

"We'd all be better of if he was dead." Driving the coffin nail in further, there was no remorse at all in Horace's expression.

"You take that back Horace." It didn't matter what he'd done, there wasn't anything right about wishing such a thing. "That's a terrible thing to say about anybody. You take it back."

"I will not."

"But you don't mean it."

"I do! I wish he was dead." There it was again. Pride. A fair amount of jealousy. Stubborn, angry coldness. Something so foreign on Horace's face.

Did he not realize this didn't make him a man in her eyes? Just like it wasn't Hank's anger and bitterness that made her able to forgive him. This wouldn't do. How could she live with Horace like this?

This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening.

"Myra?"

"No." She shoved the basket at him, "Here's your lunch. I need to lie down."

"Myra. You gotta understand-,"

"No, I don't! Horace, I can't imagine sayin' that about nobody."

"But he-,"

"I need to think. I need to go, Horace. Excuse me." She rushed past him quick as she could. Blinking back tears when he called out to her, she slammed the clinic door behind her.

Before Michaela could make it into the hall and ask her what was wrong, Myra darted up the stairs. Talking was the last thing she needed right now. She needed to just think. Figure out what on earth had just happened.

How had her sweet Horace managed such menacing words? With such force and surety? With such venom that she almost believed the wish would come true because he'd felt it so strong.

He'd always been jealous of Hank. Of the fact she felt any sympathy for the man that had owned her contract.

Despite the fact that she had chosen him, Horace couldn't let go of this need to make sure it was him every single time.

Did he need her to make him her whole world?

It couldn't be that.

For so many hours they'd talked. About her desire to see beyond the two tiny worlds she'd known. To see what life was like when you weren't working so hard for every penny and scrap of food that you couldn't see no beauty in the world.

He knew her soul.

He had to.

And she knew his.

He was good. Kind. He wanted the best for her. That's why he wanted her free. It was out of pure love. After all, his love her for brought them together. Led him to her room, paying for time just to talk.

Just to talk.

What a rush that moment had been.

He was interested in more than her business. He didn't need sex to be close to her. It was about her.

Wasn't it?

A tiny voice in the back of her head nagged at her. Saying that it had been his fears of being lousy in bed. That his desire to set her free had been because he wanted to be her hero. Her world. Her solace.

No. A man that fought so hard to save her wasn't that selfish. He'd literally fought Hank to make sure she had her surgery. He'd fought against her contract. To find a way around it. Because he loved her, he wanted her happy. She wasn't happy at the saloon.

Or did he want her just to be his? Something to display to show he'd won? To own. To keep close.

Myra sank onto the edge of her bed, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. The sleeve of a dress she would have never chosen for herself.

One she'd choose would have color, a bit of life.

But he'd assured her this would get acceptance.

It had.

He'd been right.

Pushing off the bed, Myra walked to the mirror. The reflection she'd avoided for days stared back. The proper young woman, engaged to be married to the kind, proper man. It was still her.

Horace was still Horace.

Just like Hank, he just had some anger to work through. He'd been scared, he didn't know Hank like she did. He didn't know that Hank wouldn't have hurt her. He didn't know that she'd known that even as she'd knelt with the gun pointed at her.

He'd been terrified. For her.

It made sense that he'd be angry.

He hadn't really meant it. Surely. Just as Hank wasn't ever going to hurt her, Horace didn't really wish him dead.

Myra nodded, and her reflection nodded back. Yes. That was it. Once he'd calmed down things would be right again.

Horace loved her.

And she loved him.

"He's the type of man I wanted. The type that would see me. Not the whore. Me." The nagging voice started to gnaw again, for if he really saw her, would she be wearing this dress?

"Yes."

A red hue tinted her cheeks, but she didn't stop the embarrassing action of talking to herself. It seemed oddly comforting. "He's just doing this to help me erase the image of whore this town saw me as. He's helping. Then, once things settle down I can be me."

_If he loved you, he'd let you be you now. Stand by you._ Oddly enough the nagging voice in her head sounded like Doctor Mike. _Even if it was difficult. _

"No, his heart is in the right place. He ain't like that. He just wants to be a part of things. To not stick out. To be welcomed. Just like me. He's doin' it the best way he knows how. There ain't nothin' wrong with that."

The voice grew silent, allowing a serene smile to appear on the image before her. "Yes. His heart is good. And we love each other. Ain't nothing else that matters."

Myra smoothed down her skirt and turned from the mirror. A rumble in her stomach reminded her that lunch had gone uneaten by her, so she headed downstairs.

"Myra?" Concern etched through every note of Dr. Mike's voice. "Is everything all right?"

"It is now." Myra stepped into the small room with a smile for Dr. Mike. "I just needed to do some thinkin' is all. Right now I'm just thinkin' that food sounds real good."

"_Dr. Mike!_"

Myra recognized Sally's voice in an instant. Panic settled in, wondering what could have caused such a cry. For a moment she couldn't move, staring at the chair behind the desk for several long moments after Dr. Mike had left it.

Then she moved like a shot. Racing out the door behind Matthew and across the street. She had no idea what she'd see, but fear pinched her heart into a tight little ball the refused to beat.

Chaotic conversation surrounded her, but she couldn't focus on it the moment she saw him. He looked dead.

_We'd all be better off if he was dead._

Myra gasped. What if he was really dead? "Oh my Lord."


	6. Chapter 5

_**Author's Note:**__ This chapter holds the first of several flashbacks we'll see in upcoming chapters. Having a character in a coma leaves some free time to remember the past and reflect on it. _

_These are all my own interpretations of Hank & Myra's past. No disrespect to the show – but they changed the story so I had to rework it into my own version (with a little help from a friend to make sure what I thought made sense…). Hope you enjoy!_

"If he'd let me treat him, I could have prevented this." Dr. Mike shook her head, heading over to Hank's side.

"You know how stubborn Hank is." Myra tried to smile, to coat over how scared she was for him. How much it disturbed her to see him looking half dead. After all, he was going to be all right. Acting any other way wasn't going to help him. Her best efforts failed, she had to fight to hold back tears.

"This time it's going to cost him." Dr. Mike sounded angry. That couldn't be a good sign.

Matthew's arms remained crossed, but a note of concern seeped into his features. "What's wrong with him?"

Dr. Mike's fingers moved along Hank's head. "There's a skull fracture here. The blow has caused a compression. Just as I suspected."

"Myra?" Horace rushed into the clinic. Myra barely glanced his way, turning back toward Hank. Horace's hands clasped on her shoulders. "You all right? I heard there was trouble."

"It ain't me." Myra grasped his hand, taking just a moment to meet his eyes before looking away again. "It's Hank."

Dr. Mike straightened up, speaking with just a touch of her usual compassion. "I'm going to have to operate. To relieve the pressure on his brain."

His brain? For a moment she thought her knees were going to give out, but Myra held on. She remembered the last time Dr. Mike had operated on the brain. How terrified she'd been. Now, she seemed almost detached.

"It's his only chance." Dr. Mike turned away, heading over to the medicine cabinet.

"C'mon honey." Horace started to pull her away from the table.

She couldn't leave. Not when Hank's life hung in the balance. Not when he needed a friend. Her whole soul told her to stay. "I can't!"

"Well there's nothing you can do here, Myra." Dr. Mike still looked distant. Almost calm. It didn't feel right.

"I…I gotta stay with him." Watching the surgery wouldn't be easy. She had no choice. Hank needed someone pulling for him. "I wanna make sure he pulls through."

"I wish you'd come outside." Horace's hands felt like vises on her shoulders, tugging on her. His tone bordering on insistent.

Her fear was threatening to turn into anger and she shrugged off his hold with a frown. In a moment she switched to pleading, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, "Horace, please."

That was all the begging she'd do. She turned back to Hank, her shoulders set as she met Dr. Mike's eyes. As determined as she was, the fear kept tears on the edge of her eyes, "I'm stayin'."

Confusion etched through Dr. Mike's brow before her eyes shifted to Horace.

Myra's heart sank with every step Horace took, knowing that this decision could change everything. But the thoughts melted away when she focused on Hank again. For now, she had to shove that aside.

Hank would need strength.

In the past week she'd got so much of what she'd needed. All Hank had ended up with was pain, and now this.

She had strength to spare.

Myra took his hand while Dr. Mike moved around the room, sending Matthew for Colleen to assist. Determined not to cry, Myra took a shaky breath. She leaned in close, keeping her voice quiet as she could. "You ain't dyin' like a coward. It ain't you Hank."

Dr. Mike cleared her throat, "I'm sorry, Myra. I need to get him ready for surgery."

"I can help. Whatever I can do, Dr. Mike. You gotta let me. I need to stay here with him." Myra kept Hank's hand in hers. "Ain't there something I can do?"

With a sad smile, Dr. Mike nodded, "You're already doing it, Myra. Just let Colleen and I work. If we need you to move, please do."

"Of course. I won't get in your way, I promise." Myra forced out a smile, then looked down. After that, she directed all of her energy at Hank. Trying to will her strength into him as Colleen and Dr. Mike started to get set up for the surgery.

_You ain't gonna die, Hank. I ain't gonna let you. You aren't giving me that kind of guilt. We both knew this was gonna happen one day. _She squeezed his hand, before closing her eyes as Dr. Mike started to make the first incision.

_**Seven Years prior**_

The stagecoach bumped along the road, but Myra hardly noticed when her head hit the window frame again. Her eyes were fixated on the mountains in the distance. With every creak of a wheel they got closer.

Colorado Springs.

Just like he'd told her about.

When he'd first spoke of it, it had been cold and angry. It was a place he'd never go to again. Over time, the tone had changed. The amount of profit they could earn there in the mining town was so much greater than the miniscule town he'd found her in.

By the time the little farming town had decided to organize enough to run his brothel out of town he'd convinced the both of them that Colorado Springs was where they would go.

Nothing had ever sounded more exciting to her. Her contract would stay the same; he would just send the money to her brothers and sisters instead of delivering it himself. It was a new town. So much hope there.

"You ain't ever gonna stop lookin' are ya?"

Hank's voice startled her out of her reverie, and she pulled her head back in the window. "It's so beautiful. Why would I?"

"That ain't what I meant."

Myra turned back to the window, pushing aside what he might have meant by it. "Then I don't know what ya mean."

"Just excited is all."

A low grunt made her look at him and catch his furrowed brow. He quirked up an eyebrow, "That's all?"

"Sure Hank. Last time I moved there was nothin' exciting about it. It wasn't somethin' I wanted. This time it is." She smiled and looked back out the window again. "Ya talked it up real big. Can't think it's gonna be bad."

This time he grunted again, but she didn't look his way. Silence fell in the coach again. Leaving Myra to continue enjoying the view. At least for a few minutes.

"Maybe I ain't right."

"What ain't you right about, Hank?"

"Takin' you here. You're gonna get used to what's new and excitin'. What'll happen when that ain't me anymore?" Hank smirked, "I mean, I'll still have your contract, but are you gonna be working to get out of it?"

Nobody had ever looked at her the way Hank did. Not one of the men she'd ever serviced had bothered to look at her like he did. She couldn't imagine not getting those butterflies when he did that. "Just because I'm excited, don't mean I'm gonna leave ya Hank. You done right by me so far."

"Just remember that." Hank slid across the coach and sat next to her, pulling her onto his lap. "Don't need you forgettin'."

"I ain't gonna forget." Myra settled in closer, still grinning. "I know I keep askin', but are ya sure sellin' off the other contracts was smart?"

"We needed the money so's I could open the saloon again." Hank shrugged, "There'll be more girls. Always are. Besides, I plan on getting back my old place."

"Do ya got that kind of money?"

"Nope."

"Then how?"

"I told ya I sold it to Mac. He can't turn down a bet. I'll win it back."

"Win it back?" Myra blinked and pulled back, "How?"

"The money I got, you, and a game of poker."

"Poker? You're gonna bet me?"

"Don't worry. I ain't gonna lose." His grin didn't reveal one lick of doubt that she could see.

Despite the gnawing bit of concern in her belly, she managed a smile. "You don't look worried."

"I ain't. I ain't a coward. No reason to worry. I'm not gonna give ya up so easy."

This time her smile faltered. She shrugged, "If ya say so."

She slipped off his lap and back to the window. Looking out at the mountains, she took a deep breath of mountain air. Something in her heart told her not to give up hope. That this town was going to be good for her. Somehow.

Hank let out a long sigh behind her.

"What?"

"You're never gonna stop lookin', are ya?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Sure ya do."

She felt him shift away, and knew that he was right. She was looking at more than the mountains. More than Colorado Springs. Maybe she would stop looking – once she knew what she was looking for.


	7. Chapter 6

_**Author's Note:**__ This chapter has an alteration. Because the writers lacked consistency in Myra & Hank's past, I am changing a few lines from the scene to reflect the "compromise" I made about their past. _

Myra leaned on the bed, unable to pull her eyes from Hank as Dr. Mike worked. The surgery had gone on forever. She'd never seen anything like it. Now, though. Now was when she was worried.

He still wasn't awake.

Dr. Mike wasn't saying anything.

Finally she couldn't stand it any longer. "What do we do now?"

"We wait." Dr. Mike didn't stop what she was doing. She didn't try to offer any hope. Why wasn't she? She always did.

"How long 'fore he wakes up?" Maybe asking would get the answer she was hoping for. The answer she needed to hear.

"Myra, it's very kind of you to care about Hank." Dr. Mike pulled off the stethoscope and set it around her neck.

Myra bit the inside of her cheek. She knew that look. She'd seen it on Horace that afternoon. Dr. Mike didn't understand either. No one did.

"Especially after all he did to you." Dr. Mike didn't look away, she wasn't judging. Maybe she did want to understand. "But it's puzzling to me."

Myra couldn't help but smile, even if it was tired. She was used to no one understanding. No one did unless they knew Hank.

And no one knew Hank.

Myra turned, taking a deep breath. She couldn't do the truth justice, but she could try. "Me and Hank have known each other a lot of years. In his way of thinking, he was doing good by me."

She looked back at Dr. Mike with a smile before continuing her path toward the chair in the corner. "I remember the first time he smiled, and told me I was beautiful."

She really did remember, like it was yesterday. The memory still made her feel beautiful. Like she was wearing royal robes instead of plain cotton. "It's the first time I ever felt I was."

For a moment, Dr. Mike looked like she understood. Like maybe she was feeling it with her. Myra took a moment to sit, trying to figure out her next thoughts. "When he talked about coming back here, he was so full of hope. He'd make a new life, new dreams. He brought me with him. Just me."

She ran the rough cotton of her skirt through her fingers. The sensation keeping her in the present, even as her mind wandered to he past. She smiled, but it faltered quickly. "I found out later it wasn't the life I wanted."

Neither of them had been happy about it. Yet neither had been willing to let go. "But it got me here. And _now_ I found what makes me happy."

She smiled, he'd known that she'd leave. He'd said as much back then, yet he still brought her. There was no doubt. "So in a way, I owe him."

It was clear that Dr. Mike didn't understand how she could think that. There were just some things Myra couldn't reveal. It wasn't her place, she wasn't Hank. Still, there had to be hope. Dr. Mike always gave hope. "How long 'fore he wakes up?"

Dr. Mike took a deep breath, but despite the kindness lingering there, Myra could only see sadness in her eyes. "Myra, I always try to be optimistic. This time I feel compelled to say there's a possibility he won't."

Myra looked at Hank, unable to comprehend that. It wasn't possible. Not Hank. He was stronger than that. She looked back up at Dr. Mike. "That can't be true."

"Myra…"

"I don't mean to go against ya, Dr. Mike. You're a fine doctor and you know a lot about medicine, but I know Hank. He's a fighter. He'll pull through. I know he will."

"Well, in any case…we should both get some sleep."

Myra rose again, moving to the chair closer to the bed. "Go ahead, Dr. Mike." She wasn't going anywhere. He shouldn't be alone. No one should be alone.

Dr. Mike smiled and nodded, "Of course. I'm going to head home. If you need anything, or his condition changes, send Robert E."

She wasn't staying? Didn't she always stay when she had a patient this serious? Was this really happening?

Myra forced a smile, certain it was going to fall away if she tried to speak. Instead she just nodded and looked back down, playing with her skirt again. When the door closed and the footsteps faded, she gave into the tears.

Her hands pressed to her eyes, trying keep them at bay, but it wouldn't stop. This couldn't be happening.

"_Them tears ain't gonna help, ya know."_

_Myra sniffled against them, her rough hands scratching away the tears. "Don't matter no how."_

"_Here." A handkerchief appeared in front of her face. When she didn't take it, he shook it at her, "Take it. I'm tellin' ya. Them tears ain't gonna help. Just making it worse all red and splotchy."_

_If she hadn't been red before, she was now. The whole afternoon had been an embarrassment. All she'd wanted to do was earn some money. Maybe her brothers and sisters wouldn't starve. The crops had been such a failure this year._

_Her renewed sobbing somehow didn't drive him off. She could see his feet, crossed leisurely as he leaned back against the wall. She sniffled, but still couldn't stop._

"_Why'd ya let him get to ya?"_

_This was crazy. She had no idea who he was. "I…I need to go."_

"_He was wrong."_

_Myra froze. After a last swipe of her tears, she took a shaky breath. Looking at her hands, she shook her head, "No. He wasn't. I ain't ever been nothin'. Been worked to hard to be worth anything to him."_

"_He wouldn't know a prize steed if it kicked him in the ass."_

_The laugh tumbled out before she could stop it, and she got the courage to look at the man before her. Her breath caught in her throat as she craned her head back to see him. "Oh."_

_With a wink, he grinned, "That's more like it."_

"_I…um…"_

"_Ya looked better when ya laughed. Here." He took her hand and led her over to the rain barrel. Somehow he procured another handkerchief and dipped it in the water. _

_Her eyes closed when he smoothed it over her face, the cool touch soothing the heat of her tears. Before she'd realized he'd stopped, she felt a tug on the bun she was wearing. She gasped, her eyes flying open._

"_Better." He flashed his teeth, "Now how to get ya to laugh again."_

_She could feel her cheeks burning under his gaze, and looked away, slipping her callused hands behind her back. Words were failing her. Unable to tell him it wasn't necessary. That he was being too nice. That she should get home._

_His finger touched under her chin, pulling her face back up to inspect it. One finger trailed her cheek before burying in her hair, fluffing it. "If you're lookin' to work in a place like that, ya can't be lookin' like a schoolmarm."_

"_It…it ain't just that."_

"_I told ya, he was wrong. Your hands ain't too rough – and there are ways to fix that anyhow. And you ain't plain." His finger was tucked under her chin again, meeting her eyes. "Nah. Not plain. You're beautiful."_

_Her cheeks were on fire, and she backed up a step. "You're just bein' nice because I was cryin'. I…I should get home."_

"_I ain't nice."_

_The way he said it sent a shiver down her spine. "I…I really should go home."_

"_You wanna earn money that way?"_

"_Ain't no other way to earn it. Not 'round these parts." She hated it, but it was true. She'd tried everything else. After working the farm from the time she was ten, she wasn't smart enough to teach. No one else would hire her to do any kind of labor. _

"_I can help ya."_

"_Why?"_

"_I'm bored."_

_That brought up another laugh, "That ridiculous."_

"_There it is. See, when ya smile, when ya believe it…then ya really are beautiful." He moved closer, "Name's Hank. What's yours?"_

"_M…Myra."_

"_Myra. You and me? We're gonna make some money together."_


	8. Chapter 7

_**Author's Note:**__ This is the final chapter before I get into the alterations. I'm not certain yet just how many more there will be. I'm certain this will end shortly after Hank wakes up…and there may be a brief epilogue (hint into a sequel, maybe…time is fleeting these days)…AND…I wanted you to know that the flashbacks are not appearing in vain. I hope to do a postscript that includes them all, and a few other details to give a more rounded picture of Hank/Myra's past. _

_Now, I will stop rambling. Onto the chapter. _

A horse whinnied outside, pulling Myra's attention to the window. Somehow, daylight had arrived again. The night was a blur to Myra. She'd only left the room to relieve herself. Otherwise she hadn't moved from the chair.

She supposed she should be sore, but she still felt numb. Lost.

Leaving Hank had been right.

It had hurt, but he was still there.

Even in anger, knowing he was still there kept the wound from gaping open.

The thought of him being gone?

She wasn't ready to deal with that.

"C'mon, Hank. This ain't you. You always get your way. I ain't gonna believe that ya really wanna die." Myra perched on the edge of her chair, peering into his face for any sign. Any twitch.

"Nothin' can stop ya, Hank. You can talk your way outta, or into, anythin'. So talk your way outta dyin'. Hank…"

She sat back, still staring at him. Unable to close her eyes to sleep, but the dreams came anyhow.

"_What in tarnation do you think you're doin'? Ya look like a whore!"_

_Myra felt her cheeks grow red hot, but she kept holding out the money. "Just take it. Make sure they got food. Shoes. Winter's comin'."_

_The woman's brown eyes narrowed, her hands on her hips, "I ain't taking money from no whore. It's sin money."_

"_Please, Miss Celia." A soft thud behind her let her know Hank had hopped down from his horse. "I just want to help my brothers and sisters." _

_Her step-mother stared daggers at her. Unfazed by Hank's approach, she kept her hands on her hips. Not once in the ten years since her pa had died had the woman shown her a kindness. She was going to milk this chance to rake her over the coals. "Your Pa would die again if'n he saw ya like this. Not that I'm surprised. You ain't good for much else."_

"_Don't think she asked your opinion." Hank hovered near Myra's side, relaxed, cool as he always was. Even though she didn't dare look at him, she could almost hear the smooth smile she was sure he was wearing. She'd warned him charms wouldn't work. He'd laughed and told her they always work. "Just asked ya to take the money, feed the kids. Don't gotta like where the money came from to use it."_

"_I won't use tainted money to feed my kids." Celia didn't waste any attention on him. "Look at you. Showin' up like this. What am I supposed to tell them now? They all see you flaunting yourself. Shameful."_

"_I'm wearing a coat. Please. I just wanted to help. Make sure they got food and clothin' so they don't get sick." Myra's hand was shaking now, but a brief touch to her back from Hank eased the nerves. Holding the money firm, she met Celia's eyes, "You don't gotta like me to use my money. Ya didn't like me and used my labors."_

"_It ain't no different." Hank spoke up before Celia could start her next argument. "'Cept that this money is regular. Your crops and washin' ain't. Always some Celestials to do the wash, and they do it cheap."_

"_The money's tainted. Just like she is." Celia folded her arms across her chest. "Won't do my kids no good to take tainted money from their whore sister."_

"_No. What won't do them good is starvin'." Hank's hand slid down her arm and picked the money from her fingers. He stepped between her and Celia, holding the bills right in her face. "What if ya never had to see Myra again?"_

_Myra couldn't hide her gasp. Never see her again? She didn't mind not seeing Celia, but the rest of them. Charlie, Annie, Maude and Felix. They were still so young. She'd miss them so much._

"_I'm listenin'." Celia sounded positively giddy at the thought. No surprise there. Just as happy as she'd been to send off Mary to the first man that proposed, and spent much time mourning that Myra herself was too plain to marry off, this was her chance to be rid of them both for good. _

"_I'll make sure ya get money every month, every penny Myra earns but fifty dollars a month." Hank was betting a lot on what she'd bring in. He was more confident than she was. For that matter, he was more confident than Celia._

_With a derisive snort, Celia shook her head, "She ain't gonna earn more than that in a month. Look at her."_

"_I have." The affection in Hank's tone managed to send a shiver down her spine despite the situation. "And this here? This is two weeks."_

"_She only been gone three."_

"_And ya never thought to come find her, did ya? Now, this is two weeks. After her fifty dollars." Hank took Celia's thick hand in his and set the money in it. "Until that last kid is sixteen. You'll get at least that every month. And ya won't never have to see her again."_

_Again Myra's stomach twisted, but Celia was chuckling and nodding as she counted out the fifty dollars in her hand. If it meant that her family was fed, she would learn to live with not seeing them._

"_That make the money less tainted?" _

"_Sure does." Celia nodded, "You got a deal, mister. Anything else?"_

"_Not a thing. Get her off my land. My kids don't need to see no whores." Celia turned and strode back toward the house, yelling at the children to get inside._

_Myra rushed around Hank, gasping when he grabbed her around the waist. "Hank…"_

"_Ya wanted them to get the money. They got it. Now let's go. Said yourself she don't treat them the way she did you. Let her be." Hank pulled her back toward the horse, "Let's get to actually makin' money."_

_The money had been a ruse, she had yet to actually work. Hank was opening up the brothel that very night – and this fifty had been an advanced payment. By her contract, if she didn't make the fifty, all the money went to her family._

_It would be years before she'd see a dime of the money she made. Didn't matter none. Her brothers and sisters needed it more. She had a roof, food, and Hank. That was all she imagined she needed. _

_With one last wave to Felix as his little head still hung out the window watching her she turned to Hank. "All right. Let's get. I got nothin' but time now."_

"_That's my girl." _

The creak of the door pulled her from the dream of the past, and Myra gave a weak smile to Dr. Mike. She brushed her hair back and straightened her dress. She didn't flush when Dr. Mike seemed to notice she was wearing the same thing as the day before. It didn't matter right now. What did was whether or not Hank was doing better.

"Myra. Didn't you sleep?" Dr. Mike moved forward to start the exam, continuing to cast the occasional glance in her direction.

"I wanted to make sure there was a friendly face in case he woke up." Try as she might, Myra's smile faltered. Dr. Mike hadn't smiled at the idea, or offer any encouragement. The exam continued in painful silence until Myra had to know. "How is he?"

"There's no change."

That was good. Right? I mean, he could have taken a turn for the worse. He hadn't. Myra found her smile again, "So he's not worse."

Now Dr. Mike looked at her. "Myra. It's important you not get your hopes up."

"You'll make him well, Dr. Mike." Myra was rooted to the spot, even though she wanted to rush up and plead with her to work harder. To do something other than this continual nothing. Dismal lack of hope. "If anyone can do it, you can."

To that Dr. Mike nodded briefly, "Well. I can try to keep his fever down. If pneumonia develops I can drain his lungs. But that's all."

Through her exhaustion, Myra didn't have the energy to scream it as her heart felt she should right then. She shook her head, "That ain't all."

Dr. Mike straightened, almost looking offended at the idea that there was something she was omitting. "I'm sorry. I don't know what you mean."

"Sometimes I think you just gotta want him to get well." Using the cover of forceful words to hide her burgeoning tears, she kept going. "You gotta want it so hard that he can feel it."

"Myra. He can't feel anything."

"But what if he can?" Myra looked up at the woman she'd seen heal so many people. So many people with as little hope as Hank did now. Sometimes even less. Then she'd believed that she could heal them. Where was that faith now? With all her might, Myra wished to impart that belief into Dr. Mike.

This time, as much as she had at any other time. As she would ever feel again. Just faith and hope that the person in front of her would get well again. Would beat all the odds laid out against him.

Dr. Mike looked to be holding her breath under Myra's gaze. In a rush she spit out not words of hope…but, "I have a lot of work to do."

The words pierced Myra's heart as Dr. Mike sighed.

"I'll be downstairs. Call me if there's any change."

Like someone had lit her petticoats on fire, Dr. Mike fled the room. Myra looked back at Hank. If no one else would believe it for him, she would.

Hank was a betting man, after all. He'd beat longer odds than this.

Even with the deck stacked against him, he could win.

Even with the whole world against him.

He would survive.

God willing.

Her heart willing.

He would survive.


	9. Chapter 8

_**Author's Note:**__ The beginning of the end. I believe, at this point, that I will end this at (at the most) 15 chapters. That is, if my muse doesn't decide to throw in anything else to catch me off-guard. So this chapter puts me firmly over the halfway point. This chapter is the trigger for the change I'm making…_

Shouts started ringing out in the street. Greetings. Good cheer.

Everyone else was living daily life.

Like nothing had happened.

Like they didn't care.

They really didn't care.

Nobody did.

That fact was becoming painfully clear. Myra couldn't understand it. How was it right that a man could die so alone?

No, Hank wasn't a great man.

Sometimes he wasn't even a good man.

But he wasn't evil.

There are so many things Hank could have done when she'd left. Things that would have been legal. Would have been his right as he held her contract – torn or not. Things that he didn't do.

Yes, he'd held a gun to her head. He wasn't going to shoot. He was trying to scare her. Trying to make her see his pain. Knowing she cared. That it could make her go back. That she never could shake him.

"Ahem." Horace cleared his throat, cutting through her melancholy thoughts.

Myra straightened, gathering her shawl about her. In total silence she rose and crossed the room. Not letting her gaze drift from Horace's. Pleading with her heart that he would see. Understand. This time he had to. He was the one person that knew at least part of her past with Hank.

"I don't understand." His words were the last she wanted to hear.

Hope drained from her soul, her eyes drifting toward Hank. Didn't anyone know that it was wrong to abandon any soul caught between life and death? Couldn't Horace, of all people, understand why she cared? Why she had to do this? "I guess I can't expect you to."

"I'll never forgive him. And you shouldn't either." There was hardness in Horace's eyes. One that she'd first seen when he'd purchased the gun. Hardness that she hadn't known his soul could possess.

She didn't like it. This wasn't Horace. It was just the lingering anger, fear. That excuse was getting harder to swallow. To believe. She thought she knew him. Could she have been so wrong? She had to try. Again. To make him see her heart. Like he had before. That's all he needed to see, "I gotta do what I feel."

"Everybody in town saw Hank try to kill you. Now you're at his side night and day? You're making me look like a fool!"

Why hadn't she seen it before? This selfish side of him? Couldn't he see that this wasn't about making him look like a fool? A man lay dying just a few feet away and all he cared about was what the town thought? Her heart clenched, he wasn't even trying to see it from her way. To ask her with an open heart why. "I'm sorry you see it that way."

Horace held her hands tight, tighter than felt necessary. There was little tenderness in his voice when the ultimatum came. "If you love me. You won't stay."

Her heart ripped in that moment. Was he really suggesting that she didn't love him? She'd given up everything for him. Literally. Left her clothes lying in the street. Her jewels. Everything.

Myra exhaled the breath she'd been holding, looking toward the bed. What difference did it make if she stayed? Hank was dying. It wasn't like she was choosing to go back to him. Back to the saloon. This was about something so much more than what direction her life took. This was about her soul. Doing what was right.

She had to make him see. Somehow. "I can't let a man die alone. I wouldn't be able to live with myself!" It was true. If she left now and Hank died. He would be alone.

It was clear he didn't understand. She couldn't watch the way Horace's face contorted into disgust. Disgust meant for her actions. He'd never looked at her like that, and it cut through her. She turned away, ready to return to Hank's side.

Horace grabbed her shoulder and turned her back toward him. Once again his face was filled with the pride he'd had when he'd put on that gun. He felt himself a bigger man now. She'd never expected to ever hear his next thoughts, "I can't let you."

Let her? She needed his permission? He didn't mean it that way. Right? "What?"

"I am ordering you not to go."

Myra felt the world crumble around her. He was ordering her. Ordering her.

Knowing what she'd given up?

The life she'd once led?

"If you tell me what to do and what not to do, you are no better than Hank! I won't live like that again!" She didn't know where the strength came from to say those words. When she felt like crumbling into a heap on the floor. No longer could she worry about hurting his feelings. She had to stand up for herself.

The way she'd thought he always would.

"I've never been my own person 'til now. Part of why I love you is because you let me be that. Horace, I have to make my own decisions." She'd pushed it all out in one breath. This was it. Either he'd understand, or he wouldn't. There was nothing else left to give him.

He had to understand.

"And this is one of them." She put as much force behind the words as she could, using the rest of her energy to fight off the tears. Her heart knew he didn't understand, it was clear on his face. Hope had left at his order to leave.

"If you do…then…" His voice trailed off. For a brief moment pain showed through. The heart of the man she'd fallen in love with was breaking. But the heart disappeared again behind hard eyes. "Then it's over for us."

The heady feelings of love she'd had, the hopes for their future, her image of the good and kind man Horace had been; all of it crumbled away. In shocking, painful clarity she saw Horace. Desperate for acceptance as she was. But his vision of acceptance meant something else.

A masquerade.

Acceptance not for who he was.

But who he was determined to be.

And who he was determined to be was not the man she'd fallen in love with.

Everything she'd believed Horace to be – every dream she'd had – was all a lie. A lie that wasn't meant to be one, but a lie.

Myra looked at Hank, still unmoving on the bed. Near death.

Her heart broke – she couldn't leave him. Not like this. Already she'd abandoned him once. There was no way she could abandon him in what could be the last hours of his life. Alone without a lick of support from no one.

She looked back at Horace and for a brief moment she hated him. For turning into everything she'd thought he wasn't. Then the hate disappeared into the pain of loss.

There was no more arguing.

No more discussion.

His heart wasn't open.

Maybe it never had been.

She turned away, walking back around the bed with purpose. Keeping her back straight and strong as she had when she'd left the saloon. Now was not the time to show her weakness. Her pain.

That would make it seem like she felt she was doing the wrong thing.

She knew in her heart this time she was right.

As right as she had been to walk out of the saloon.

And just as she had when she walked out of the saloon, she hid the depth of the pain she felt.

She positioned herself in the chair she'd so recently left, placing her hands in her lap. Not once did her gaze falter as Horace stared at her. Perhaps he thought she'd beg for the life he offered.

The life of looking plain.

Of blending in.

Of marriage.

Of acceptance.

But she didn't.

What she wanted was the freedom.

The freedom to choose.

No one would take that choice from her again.

Not even in the name of love.

In silence she sat until he turned and left the room.

Then she gave in. Letting the sorrow well up as she dropped her head to her hand.

She'd thought everything would be different.

So why did it now feel like it nothing had changed?


	10. Chapter 9

_**Author's Note:**__ *Insert missing scene HERE* Okay, I am the first to admit that I have gone w/ the shows version over the script a few times in this fic. This is one scene I had to include that was left out. Between the impact of the big pronouncement, and the sentiment of a smaller moment (that was pitifully sort of shown but not mentioned on screen)…this chapter needed to happen, pulling from the script and building on it. At the end of the chapter I'll point out how it was shown on screen…_

* * *

_She'd called out in concern for Horace, he was no match for Hank. It was enough to stab the knife deep into the wound that had started when she'd thought she was pregnant. When Horace had stood by her and Hank hadn't. _

_The look in Hank's eyes when he'd looked up at her, the pain written all over his face. The pain that had lasted for a lifetime, but only a second before he turned it into rage. Rage against Horace._

_She couldn't do anything to stop it. Why didn't someone stop the continuing fight?_

_Why didn't they stop it before Hank killed Horace all because of her?_

_Then it was stopped. By Dr. Mike and Doc Eli. _

_Thankfully._

"_You want her, you can have her." Hank didn't look at them, he looked at her. He wanted her to see it, he knew she would._

_She didn't miss it, not the tears that everyone else attributed to his fight. Not the pain etched into his brow, and she felt echoed in her own. It started the breaking of her heart, and the severing of their tie. _

"_Only a damn fool falls in love with a whore." The regret in his voice lingered in her ears. More than the twisting of his lips to cover his attempted recovery from the pain he'd let show. The way his eyes lingered on her as he walked away, showing his unwillingness to let go._

_Their bond was fraying._

_He would try to tighten it. Force it to stay. He wouldn't let her go that easy._

_But the tighter he held on, the more she'd fight. Every struggle would break their hearts, his, hers – it didn't matter – eventually they would both break. _

With a gasp, Myra's eyes flew open. Her heart pounded in her chest, the memory as fresh and close as the dream had been. She sat up, rubbing her eyes to try to clear it away, but it did nothing.

The image would be with her the rest of her life.

Exhaling sharply she pushed to her feet. This would never do. Her sleep hadn't been restful, but she'd given into Doctor Mike and the Reverend's demands that she rest. It would be enough for now.

She had to see how he was.

Her eyes scanned the simple room, landing on the satchel in the rocking chair. Meg had stopped by and dropped it off. Her things. The things she'd left in the street. Returned to her.

She crossed the room and undid the strap, her fingers diving into the mass of silky fabric. Meg said that Hank had ordered her to clear everything out of the street.

"Don't seem right to keep it now that he ain't there," Meg had said with a bit of regret.

In Myra's absence Meg had taken the lead with the girls, and Hank. It wasn't an easy task and Myra knew that she was considering leaving too, with Hank seemingly gone. She also knew why Meg didn't.

What if he did wake up?

Found all the whores gone?

He could replace them sure – but truth be told not many of them hated him enough to leave. They didn't like being owned, but most of them had chosen this life. And as pimps go, Hank was good to them.

At least he could be a lot worse. Some had come from worse. None had come from anything better.

Myra pulled a skirt from the bag, running it along her cheek, feeling the soft fabric with sigh. Frowning she gripped it in her fist and looked at it. She had chosen to move on, this would never do. This, though softer than the cloth covering her now, was not proper.

With a heaving sigh she shoved it back in the bag, a hard lump drawing her attention. Her fingers curled around the object she'd made contact with, immediately recognizing the shape.

Slowly she withdrew her hand, bringing the velvet pouch with her. The perfume bottle was still safely wrapped within. She felt her heart twist. She should put it back as she had the skirt.

Her hand wouldn't move. It clenched the bottle close to her heart.

Footsteps echoed up the stairs, and within moments she heard a door open. Soft murmurs. Dr. Mike was checking on Hank now.

Impulsively she shoved the bottle into her handbag and darted from the room. She rushed in, finding Michaela bent over Hank, taking more care to examine him then she had in days.

Tears sparked her eyes, but she moved around the bed near the Reverend. Despite the million questions in her head, she kept silent.

The air grew thin, but she refused to take another breath until Dr. Mike spoke.

Good news. There had to be good news for a change. This couldn't be the end.

When Dr Mike straightened up, there wasn't a bit of hope anywhere in her features. Her brow creased as her hands clasped in front of her, folding the tool she used to listen to his heart. "He's worse."

"How much worse?" Myra's voice had been but a squeak, her body craving the oxygen she finally allowed it with a deep shaky breath.

"I've done all I can." When Dr. Mike looked at her, Myra knew she'd been trying even harder. "But I'm afraid there's no hope."

Myra sucked in a deep of breath, trying to not lose it right there. There was nothing she could say. Nothing she could do. Her eyes drifted to Hank, and tears she wouldn't let fall burned until her eyes closed.

"Should we send for his son?" The Reverend spoke quietly, worry and sorrow carrying through every syllable.

Myra could only nod, thinking of the young boy and what would happen to him now. Her voice caught but she forced the words out, "Zack should be with him."

"I'll wire the money to Denver for coach fare." There wasn't a bit of hesitation, and Myra was grateful for his kindness.

"That's very kind of you, Reverend." Dr. Mike's voice was soft, and there was a small quiver to it. "But even if you do, he won't get here in time."

A sob caught in Myra's throat, and her fingers flew to her mouth.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Mike said just as quietly.

The silence descended over the room like a blanket as Myra fought back the tears. Hank wouldn't want them right now. Not with a room full.

After a few minutes Dr. Mike's footsteps led quietly to the door. The soft murmur of a prayer Hank might have sneered at if he was awake filled the room. The Reverend had his hand clasped over Hank's, saying the only prayers besides Myra's own that Hank had received.

Myra sank into the chair in silence, staring at Hank's still features until the prayer drifted away. The weight of the Reverend's hand on her shoulder didn't pull her attention.

"Do you need anything, Myra?"

"No," she whispered. "Nothing."

A gentle squeeze to her shoulder and his hand disappeared. "I'll be praying for you both."

Myra nodded quietly, still not moving. Not able to say anything else without losing it. Not now. Not yet. She had to hold on. For him. If she stayed strong, maybe he could still…

No. Dr. Mike had said there wasn't any hope.

But there had to be.

There just had to be.

The soft click of the door closing interrupted her thoughts and a single tear escaped down her cheek.

Absently her fingers played with the string of her handbag before she pulled it open, withdrawing the small bag. She opened it up and pulled out the bottle, eyeing the liquid inside.

She pulled the top off and inhaled the delicate fragrance, more tears starting to slip down her cheeks. A touch to each of her wrists put the scent firmly in place before she recapped the bottle.

After setting it to the side, she scooted her chair closer and took his hand in hers. Now that they were alone, that no one else would see them she let the tears fall freely. Her head dropped down to rest on her hands and she started her own prayers, hoping that for once they would be answered.

* * *

_**Authors Note #2**_

_So the parts in the script not scene. Obviously, Michaela saying that Hank wasn't going to make it. This scene was, however, in the script. _

_The other part of it was the perfume. In the script this happens, but before the scene where Myra tells Dr. Mike that sometimes you just have to wish someone well. The only place that we see evidence of this happening is on screen during that very scene. You see the perfume bottle sitting next to her on the night table. BUT, prior to this chapter I had no explanation as to how she would have gotten it back, so I put it here :D _

_Anyway, happy reading. I hope I get another chapter out soon. It's the church scene next ;)_


	11. Chapter 10

_**Author's Note:**__ Ah, the church scene. Nothing else needs to be said…does it?_

* * *

All night she'd sat there, not once letting sleep claim her. She couldn't. There was no one else to hold his hand. To watch the measured breaths. To talk to him, yell at him, whatever she could to bring him back.

The low murmur of voices out in the street made Myra more aware that it was daytime than the light filling the room. Rubbing her eyes, she squeezed Hank's hand, "You held on all night. Just like ya should. You're more stubborn than this."

She exhaled slowly, running her hand along his arm trying to stimulate nerves, her own or his. The room was becoming suffocating. Facing the idea of his death wearing her down.

"You know I had to leave, Hank. It was time. I've been there too long. Nothing wasn't ever gonna change." She pulled his hand up off the bed, resting her cheek against it. Her eyes closed, "It couldn't – not so long as you owned me. No man will own me again, Hank. I promise you that."

She looked up at him quietly, "You said you loved me, remember? You told me so. I was cruel…I told ya that you didn't know what love was."

Slowly she set his hand down and took a ragged breath, "I know in a way ya do. Just like I know ya once loved Clarice in your own way. Just ain't the way I could ever want to be loved. Not with ya still making me work."

She rubbed her hands along her legs, "Wish you would wake up. Wish someone else would tell you wake up."

Her eyes fluttered closed and sleep started to tug at her. With a gasp she jumped awake and rubbed her hands over her face, "I need to walk. I'm falling asleep. I gotta get some air. I need to think.

"I won't be gone long, Hank. Don't you go dying on me. Don't you die."

Before the tears could escape again she darted from the room and down the steps. Before she stepped outside she tried to gather herself, walking more slowly as she stepped outside.

The first hit of fresh air filled her lungs and she allowed a brief smile toward the sun. Each and every ache from staying up all night hit her and she stretched out some of the kinks.

She rubbed the back of her neck, and as the first sound of church bells reached her ears she saw it.

'Closed'.

Myra walked out into the street numb as she stared at it. Of course it would be closed, but to actually see it. It wasn't right. Not knowing he was upstairs. Alone.

The church bells continued to rang out and she looked toward the church.

Every step closer to the church she remembered. How just last week she'd attended for the first time ever. Accepted. Welcomed. Her past sins forgiven because she'd stepped into a role. No longer a whore. No longer Hank's.

She'd felt so proud.

But just a few hours later Hank had been hurt. Within a couple of days he was in the clinic. Since then not one of them had come to see him. Only the reverend, and of course Dr. Mike.

How could they do that?

Didn't God say to love your neighbor? To treat them as you would want to be treated? No, Hank wasn't a good man in many ways, but did he deserve to die alone? Did anyone?

Her soul felt ripped in two, confusion and pain filling her now. Just a week ago she'd been so happy.

Free.

Loved, welcomed and engaged.

Now she felt like she'd rejected all of them. That she'd had to. How could she accept love and forgiveness from people that couldn't show a bit of care for Hank?

As she stepped into the church silently she heard Reverend Johnson calling for them to pull out their bibles to open them. She couldn't stop herself, she didn't want to. For too long she'd been kept silent, and then kept herself silent because it was proper.

She had to say it; if it damned her again she'd adjust. It wasn't a place unfamiliar to her.

"Turn to where it says God loves _all_ his children, not just the good ones." Everyone had turned around when she spoke. Her fingers rolled the fabric of her apron in her fingers.

"Myra," Reverend Johnson looked shocked, unsure.

No, she wasn't done. She wasn't going to stop. This had to be said. These people had seen well enough to keep company in his saloon, or when he was laughing and having a good time. Now that he was in trouble they weren't there. Not even those that claimed to be his friends, Jake and Loren.

She looked up at the Reverend, recalling his sermon from the previous week. "You said let the person that has never sinned throw the first stone."

Tears were welling up but she couldn't stop, turning to look at those around her. "You all say love your neighbors as you love yourselves. It's what you say, but it ain't what you do!

"And that's the thing about Hank." Myra shook her head, "He ain't no hypocrite. He says what he thinks and he means what he says. You all say you're his friends, but you don't mean it. Not one of you's been to see him. Have you even put him in your prayers?"

By now eyes were looking away, looking down. Her heart was in her throat, lessening her ability to speak. She took the last few steps to the front of the room to try to remove the lump.

She turned back around, looking as many of them in the eyes as she could. "When I first rode into town I saw this church steeple rising so high. I thought it was the tallest most beautiful building I ever seen."

Myra couldn't stop the tears as one slipped down her cheek. "Last Sunday when I was here for the very first time. I felt so tall and proud – like I belonged."

The next part would be so difficult, so painful. It hurt, but it was true. "But...but I don't wanna belong to a church where you let a man lay dyin' while you sit here reading your bibles!"

There was nothing else to say. No longer holding back tears she stormed back down the aisle, carefully avoiding Horace's gaze. She burst from the church and rushed across the meadow. With a sob she crossed the bridge and soon found herself back in the street between the past and the future again.

On the right was the saloon, the closed sign taunting her. To the left was the clinic. Where she'd been staying to reach her future, the one she'd been so sure she wanted.

Now nothing seemed sure.

Her eyes drifted up toward the window of Hank's room. "Don't you die on me…I gotta think. I just gotta." She folded her arms across her chest and rushed down the street, heading off out of town for what would turn into a very long walk.


	12. Chapter 11

_**Author's Note:**__ And here is where the story starts to change. Where I divert from the direction the show took. There will be a lot more in the next chapter, this one is just a setup for it. It's shorter - but the next chapter will be a doozy, so this one is being kept short._

* * *

Like every Sunday the town seemed to be holding its breath. No kids playing, there were few horses. Businesses were closed.

Usually by this time every week Hank would be ready to end the Sabbath silence by opening the doors. It wouldn't be happening this week.

Myra walked around the corner toward the clinic, keeping her pace slow. She sat on the bench in front of the clinic, her mind still racing.

First everything had changed so fast for the good.

Just as quick it had turned back around.

One thing she was sure of, she wasn't going back.

The problem was, how could she go forward?

With Horace the answer had been obvious. He would give anything to help her, she was sure he still would.

But now she wondered at what price?

With Hank she'd always known the cost.

It was only now she realized she hadn't known the cost with Horace. She'd just assumed that it would be different – because he was different. Different than everything she'd known for so long.

In that room she'd seen another side to Horace.

It wasn't something she could ever forget.

She knew what she had to do – but she had no idea how.

The door to the clinic opened and Myra couldn't believe her eyes when Jake and Loren stepped outside. It was pure shock that kept her silent and the two men never saw her, heading back to their businesses in somber silence.

Slowly she rose to her feet and headed inside, pausing halfway up the stairs when she saw Grace coming down them. Words failed her as tears filled her eyes.

Grace's hand clasped over hers briefly before she continued down the stairs.

Myra's hand shook when she released the railing, so she set it back down. It wasn't until the door closed that she moved up the stairs with renewed vigor. Either he was dead or…or somehow she'd made a difference today.

She stopped in the doorway, finding the silent room waiting for her. Somehow it seemed less suffocating than it had. She circled the bed and sat back down in the chair she'd occupied all night.

"Looks like you had yourself some visitors. 'Bout time if you ask me." She bit her lip and looked down, rolling her apron through her fingers again.

"I've been doing some thinking today. Would just be easier to talk to someone I s'pose. Rather than trying to keep it all straight in my head…"

With a shaky breath she looked up at him, "In my heart."

She stood up and walked over to the window, rubbing her arms self consciously. "Ain't nothing how it was supposed to be. It's so hard telling what's right. What I should do. I hate hurting anyone."

With a sigh she leaned against the window, "Yeah Hank, even you. It wasn't easy, you know that. I had to. And now…well, I still don't regret it."

She looked back at him, "I do love Horace. I think."

The minute she said it she flushed bright red and rubbed her hands over her face. She'd been certain she loved Horace. Now the more time she thought…the more…

"Myra?"

"Grace," Myra exclaimed with a breath of relief. For at least a few minutes she'd be free of her own thoughts. "Come on in."

"Wanted to bring you a basket. No sense in you starving while you're up here. Should last you through supper." Grace stepped in and set down the basket on the dresser. She looked over at Myra, opening her mouth to say something before stopping herself.

Myra smiled, "Thank you, Grace." It didn't escape her notice that Grace didn't look at Hank, but it didn't matter. She knew Grace had been there once already. "For everything. Means a lot."

Grace smiled briefly, "Well I best get back. Tomorrow you come eat at the café. Ain't no good to be holed up in here all this time. You need strength if you're gonna be sitting bedside."

"I'll try to come out tomorrow." Myra smiled warmly and once Grace had left she sat down.

A warmth filtered through her and tension eased from her shoulders a bit. She looked up at Hank and smiled, "You're gonna get better Hank. If not for me, or for yourself. You'll do it just to spite Dr. Mike. Right?"

For the first time in days she felt it. A stirring of hope. Her hand clasped his, "I mean you don't want her to be right on this too, do ya? There ain't nothing you like better than proving Dr. Mike wrong. So you're gonna come back."

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, "I know it. I feel it."


	13. Chapter 12

_**Author's Note:**__ Sorry for the delay in this chapter. While I knew what was going to happen in it, and been very excited to write it some health issues have kept me from being able to get everything down on paper. The first time I tried, well it wasn't pretty (as can happen when you force yourself to write through exhaustion). But, it's here now..._

_From here on out, the story is different from the show. We're reaching the end of it, but now is where I diverge from the part I never understood, was never explained, and I never liked. Hope you enjoy my take._

* * *

Myra had spent the rest of Sunday and the full night watching over Hank. When Dr. Mike had shown up, Myra had gone back to her room. She washed up and changed into new clothes.

Despite another sleepless night she felt more refreshed than she had in days.

Hope can do that to you.

After a brief discussion with Dr. Mike revealing that Hank was actually showing signs of improvement, Myra had spent a couple more hours at his side. He'd received a few more visitors, some of the girls, some of the regular customers.

Everything had quieted at lunch, and after promising to return later Myra had gone to the café. She'd had a little money that she'd taken when she left the saloon, but Grace had refused payment for lunch. She said it was good to see Myra out and that was payment enough.

The good feelings and sense of hope faltered once she was done eating. Away from the warmth of friendship Grace had wrapped her in. Away from the cocoon of distraction of watching over Hank.

Once she had to face her life.

Digging deep to draw on the strength she'd found on Sunday, she walked to the telegraph office.

Horace wasn't there.

In the middle of the day? Where could he be?

She would have to wait.

So she did. Sitting down, she folded her hands in her lap. It stood to reason that he wouldn't be long. All she had to do was keep her nerves in check until then. It shouldn't be too difficult. Hiding what she really felt was something she was good at.

With practiced care she tucked her feet back under her skirts to hide her shoes. She straightened her back to sit tall and straight.

But it wasn't her. It never could be.

Just as she was going to collapse back into something more comfortable she saw him. Emerging from the clinic Horace's eyes crept toward her. The moment they reached her his face lit up and her heart sank.

She got to her feet, her fingers twisting around each other as she started toward him. Every step he took seemed to restore his confidence, the smile crossing his features making her own sink lower.

In the end, there was no one that wouldn't be hurt. That was the thought that killed her the most.

His hands were in front of her, and she couldn't help but take them. Searching for words she looked up into the face of the man she'd been so sure she'd known as well as herself. That she'd loved enough to get the strength to leave Hank.

As her words failed, her strength faltered she could see his words failing too.

Then he dropped to his knee.

No. She had to stop this.

The ring box was open.

Where was that strength now? Why was it failing her?

He was moving the ring toward her finger, and his eyes met hers with such a joy.

The familiar flutter she'd felt the last time he'd looked at her was only a small twitter. It wasn't as strong, and she couldn't bring herself to smile. The moment the ring started to slip along her finger she pulled her hand back.

Her fingers curled in on themselves and pain settled behind her eyes. She couldn't cry – but there was no way this was going to happen without tears.

"Myra?"

Letting out a slow breath she forced herself to meet his eyes again. She shook her head slightly, "I ain't sure no more, Horace."

"Don't ya love me?"

"I…" She couldn't say it. How could she explain it? No, she had to. Taking a ragged breath, she started to notice everyone watching them. "Get up Horace. We can't be talking in the middle of the street."

"No, Myra. Not until you put this ring on your finger."

"I can't. I won't. I told you that. Not again."

"I ain't Hank. I'm sorry I tried to make you stay away. Myra. I love you."

"I know you do." Myra took a shaky breath, "But if you're gonna stay down there until I put that ring on you'll be staying there a long time."

Horace shook his head, searching her face with wide eyes. There was no denying the disbelief she saw there, or the pain. "Myra. I know I made mistakes."

"Get up," Myra said. It was disappointing to note how much her voice shook. There wasn't any conviction behind it and that wouldn't to. "Please, Horace. Let's walk. You got the whole town looking at us."

"Let them look. Myra. Put on the ring. I'm sorry. Why won't you…Myra?"

She was walking away. He could walk with her and they could talk, or he could stay there on his knees. With a straight back she kept walking, never mind the tears on her cheeks. There was no way she was having this conversation with the whole town watching a spectacle. There'd been enough of those in the past couple of weeks.

All of them because of her.

"Myra?"

She stopped just as she finished crossing the bridge. Unable to turn around, but unable to walk away. Not without saying it.

Of course, Horace had his pride. As she'd learned recently he had it in spades. He wouldn't chase a woman, or would he? The Horace she thought she knew would have, but this one was indecisive at best.

It was clear he wanted to be something else. Something more in his eyes. She'd seen it plenty in the past week. It was a truth she wasn't going to deny any time soon.

Across the bridge she saw him standing there. For a moment her heart broke again. He looked so lost, so torn. Their time apart had left him with no idea what she was thinking, what she was feeling.

Horace still didn't move. Frozen in time, frozen between the man he was and the man he wanted to be. It was a familiar struggle. One she'd been fighting herself for so long she didn't remember not living with it.

Both of them lingered there on either side of the bridge. The short distance might as well have been a hundred acres for all the distance between them.

Neither could take the first step, could falter in their stance so tenuous was their hold on the future they were sure they wanted. His, as a man and husband – strong and dignified, respected in the town. Hers, as a woman of her own mind – confident and free, not cowing to any many by ownership or marriage.

"I love you Myra." There was a hint of desperation in Horace's voice. "Just marry me and we'll figure all this out."

"I can't marry you," Myra felt like suddenly the bridge had become too short. He was too close and her resolve might just crack. She'd had days to think, she didn't doubt that she was right. But up close she could see the pain her words caused.

"What do ya mean, you can't? You were ready to a week ago." Horace was the first to break their self-imposed distance. Maybe it was the shock of the words, maybe it was the urge to shake some sense into her. Two steps closer and he stopped. "I told ya I was sorry."

"Don't ya see, Horace? Can't you see? I fought so hard to be out of there. I ain't gonna be owned again. I thought you were a man that wouldn't try to do that to me. I thought ya knew I wanted more."

"You got more. Look at you!"

"It ain't enough. It ain't me."

"Well sure it is. It's what you wanted. You wanted to be a real lady. You didn't want to be a whore no more."

"I wanted to be free." Myra fought the urge to wipe at a tear when it slipped down along her cheek. "I loved the man I thought you were. The good and kind Horace. The man that wouldn't hurt a flea, much less carry a gun."

"I don't got it no more!"

"It don't matter! Don't you see? You aren't the man I thought you were. Maybe you could be, but I won't marry you just because it'll make people think me more respectable. Not knowing that you aren't as different as I thought you were."

Horace's hand gripped the railing and he shook his head, "I ain't Hank."

"No, you ain't. But the man that could love me for _me_ would know why I had to stay with Hank." Myra still didn't try to cross any of the distance the remained between them. She looked down at the creek with a shaky breath. "Now I've seen that maybe the man I fell in love with ain't all there is to you."

"Myra…"

"Most of all I wanted to be free." She couldn't stop now, if she did she might never finish. "When I was with Hank he owned me. I went willingly and for a long time I stayed willingly because I knew the cost."

When he took another step toward her she held up her hand to stop him. She wasn't done. "When I left I thought there was no cost."

That wasn't right. There was a cost but it wasn't in their relationship – the cost had been to Hank. She took a ragged breath to push that thought away and plow forward. "I was wrong. There's always a cost. I just ain't sure I'm ready to pay that cost anymore."

Horace closed the distance between them and turned her toward him. "I love you, Myra. I promised to take you away from that life."

"And you did. You helped me find the strength to get out of there." Myra set her hands on his wrists and pulled his hands from her shoulders. She clasped them in hers and stared at them for a long minute. A tear burned down her cheek, "But I can't marry you. Not now."

"But that's why you left."

"No it ain't. I left because I wanted somethin' better."

"Ain't marryin' me better?"

Myra pulled her hands gently free and wiped at her cheek with the back of her hand before looking up at him. "Of course it is. But first…first I gotta see what it's like to be free. I'm sorry."

"Myra. I don't understand."

She couldn't explain. The words just weren't there, and she didn't know how to make him see. "I can't…I don't know how to explain it. It's just somethin' I gotta do, Horace. If you can't wait any longer for me than you already have, then I guess I understand that."

"We been waiting so long." Horace took her hands in his, "I don't want to wait any longer. I still love you and you still love me."

Myra's response was lost as the shrieks of laughter hit them. The school let out, and their quiet was dispersed as children raced past them. She pulled her hands gently free of his again and stepped back. "I'm sorry."

She slipped around him and hightailed it back to the clinic as fast as she could. The whole way there she could almost feel his eyes staring at her, but she didn't dare to turn around.

Even though she lacked the words to explain it, she knew this was right. Maybe some day she would marry Horace. But first she had to just be Myra.

Not Myra the whore.

Not Myra Bing, wife.

Just…Myra.


End file.
